


Like Mother, Like Son

by Syls Darkplace (sylsdarkplace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feminization, M/M, Mpreg, Parent/Child Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2104275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylsdarkplace/pseuds/Syls%20Darkplace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters have had a run in with a witch with a grudge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Mother, Like Son

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’ed. No one but myself to blame.

Dean stared at the TV screen and chewed on his thumbnail. The sound was turned so low he’d barely heard Jay Leno say good night more than two hours earlier. Sammy was a still, quiet lump under the covers. Dean wished he were there beside his little brother, curled around him, safe and content. Instead, Dean waited for his dad who’d gone on a ghost hunt with fellow hunter, Caleb. John would need help with his boots and maybe a sandwich and a beer. Caleb might come in with him too. The fact that his father wasn’t alone relieved his worry only marginally. Dean waited. His right thumbnail was chewed to the quick and he started on the left. The later it got, the worse it got imagining all the things that could have gone wrong.

Lord knew things could go wrong. That had become horribly clear to him in recent weeks after he was hit with a witch’s spell while working a case in California. The spell had left him out of hunts and not knowing from one day to the next how he might be affected. They were still seeking a way to reverse the spell, but the more time wore away, the less likely it seemed. The witch was dead, and even Bobby seemed to have run into a dead end. While Sammy exhausted himself doing research, John had gone back to hunting ghosts and chasing after Mary’s killer.

Dean started at the sound of the key in the lock. He was used to hearing the Impala upon his father’s return, but they’d taken Caleb’s truck. The door knob turned and the door slowly opened. John stepped inside without a word and quietly closed the door. He laid his keys on the dresser with meticulous care. _Drunk,_ Dean thought. _Dead drunk._ John pulled out his wallet and set beside his keys. He put his hand back in his pocket and fumbled as though with something he couldn’t quite get a hold on.

Dean rose and went to his father. “Dad, need some help?”

“My keys,” John mumbled.

“They’re there on the dresser,” Dean said.

John turned toward him. “Mary,” he said.

Dean’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. “Dad, it’s Dean.”

John nodded. His tongue flicked out over dry lips. “So like her.” He tipped Dean’s chin up and caressed the teen’s almost hairless cheek with his thumb.

Just weeks ago Dean had been shaving. Now, his skin was as soft as a peach. He tried to step back, but strong calloused fingers slipped behind his neck and held him in place.

“Look at you,” John said in a husky whisper, but Dean didn’t want to. He wanted to ignore how the spell was transforming his body. His father wasn’t looking him in the eye anymore. He knew the look. He’d awakened more times than once to the sound of moaning and wet slap of flesh. His father’s lust-dark eyes fixed on the TV. That’s what he saw now as John looked at his formerly flat chest. Round globes stretched the soft cotton. It had started within hours of the witch’s curse – first, puffy sore nipples, and then softening swelling breasts that grew larger and larger over the intervening weeks. Dean kept them bound during the day and wore baggy shirts, but he couldn’t bear the tightness at night. His father’s attention was like a like a rebuke.

Dean felt branded by the hand that cupped his right breast, weighed it, squeezed. “Take your shirt off,” John said.

“No!” Dean said in surprise.

“Sh, don’t want to wake the kids, baby,” John whispered as he crowded Dean back toward the couch.

Dean shot a look at the bed, but Sammy hadn’t moved. His father took advantage of his hesitation and yanked his t-shirt up under his arms. Before Dean had time to react, John bore Dean onto his back on the sofa. The wet heat of his mouth engulfed a nipple and much of the surrounding skin. The sensation was intense and unwanted. Dean squirmed to get away, but the weight of his father’s body prevented escape.

“No, no,” Dean protested, but a hand covered his mouth and pressed his head back into the cushions. It smelled of cigarettes and gun oil and sweat. He tried to shake if off, but couldn’t. John’s mouth moved from one nipple to the other, and the rough fingers of his free hand rolled and tugged at the first. His tongue flicked at the nub, and his teeth lightly worried it. Dean had never felt anything like it. No girl had ever touched him that way, and the sensations were a shock. His nipples seemed to be wired directly to his groin. His dick and hole twitched and throbbed. It didn’t seem to matter that his brain didn’t want it. His body responded.

Dean’s breath huffed noisily through his nose and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, but the suction of his father’s mouth seemed to drain the fight from him as though milk from his breasts. He’d had the flu the previous winter and Sammy had stolen some kind of aching-coughing-sore throat medicine for him that had made him feel like he was moving underwater, fuzzy-headed, and warm. He felt like that now – except he was a puppet dancing on a string his father held with his mouth.

The hand was gone from his breast even as the distraction of John’s lips continued to suckle him. Fingers slipped under the waistband of his sleep pants and began to push them off his hip, lifted him to push them below the curve of his ass. A spark of awareness and panic went through him like an electric shock. He turned his head hard to the right to free his mouth.

“Don’t!” he gasped. He brought his legs together and tried to twist his body away, but John pushed his knee between Dean’s legs.

John released the nipple from his lips with a wet pop and rose up. He loomed over Dean. “Stop playing the good girl, Mary baby,” he said. “We both know what you like.”

There was a rustle from the bed as Sammy rolled over, and Dean froze. He prayed that his little brother wouldn’t wake up.

“Dad, please …”

John put a finger over Dean’s lips to shush him. “Wanna play it that way? You wanna be Daddy’s little girl? Okay, then.” He pulled Dean’s pants down around his thighs. “Look at that big, hard clit. What a dirty, slutty little girl you are.”

Since the spell began, Dean’s cock and balls had shrunk to about half their size. He was pretty sure his little brother was now better hung, but what was worse was that his tiny cock was standing up from his sparsely haired groin like a twig. His tits felt cold, and without thinking, he cupped them in his hands and kneaded them. His father’s chuckle made him blush and splay his hands over his breasts.

“Gorgeous,” John said, but Dean’s cheeks burned with shame. His father yanked Dean’s sleep pants down over his knees and ankles, pulled them free, and dropped them to the floor. Dean tried to draw his legs together again, but John got both of his knees between them. He caressed the soft skin of Dean’s inner thighs. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take care of you.”

Dean watched his father’s deft fingers move to the Marine Corp belt buckle at his waist and release it. The heavy buckle fell to one side as blunt fingertips grasped the brass catch of his zipper and lowered it. John pushed his jeans and boxers off his hips, and his hard cock sprang free. He fisted it and pulled the foreskin back off the glistening head. His fingers barely closed around the girth of the shaft. Dean’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head.

John gave a lopsided grin. “You know how much you love having your slutty cunt stuffed full, baby girl.” With that, he grabbed Dean’s legs and pushed his knees back over Dean’s shoulders. “Look at that – all wet and twitching.” He rubbed the sandpapery pad of his thumb over the puckered hole.

Dean closed his eyes and bit his lip. He tried to think of something else, anything else, but the sensation wouldn’t let him escape. Sexual arousal was nothing new to him. He’d lost his virginity a couple years earlier, but this was different. His cock was hard, but rather than just an urge to thrust and fuck, he had the need to … he didn’t even know what. Or maybe he did. Maybe he just didn’t want to believe it. His hole released a spurt of slick not unlike the way precome erupted from his dick.

John chuckled and spread it around the opening before pushing his thumb inside. Dean’s hips involuntarily bucked off the couch. The digit fucked in and out.

“So tight, baby,” John whispered as he withdrew his thumb leaving Dean feeling empty and needy. “You haven’t been cheating this time, have you? Huh? It’s so good to be home,” he said as he leaned forward and pressed the head of his cock to Dean’s hole. “This is home.” He met resistance, but wasn’t about to be denied. The pressure continued until Dean’s muscles released enough for the head to split him open. Dean shoved his fist in his mouth and bit down to keep from screaming, and John pushed deeper.

The pain was intense, overwhelming like the time Dean had broken his arm, but it didn’t stop as his father pushed deeper and deeper inside him, stretching and filling him. When he was balls deep in Dean he paused. His voice was low, detached, “I know you weren’t a virgin, Mary baby. I know the kind of man Samuel was. What he did with you. That’s why you play this game, baby girl, but you’re mine now. Always will be.”

With that, he withdrew till the crown caught on the rim of Dean’s hole before plunging back in. Dean felt like he was being turned inside out for the first few thrusts, but John took it slow and the pain began to ease. Dean took his fist from his mouth and tasted blood on his teeth.

John’s breath was on Dean’s ear as he said, “What do you say Daddy knocks you up tonight? You’d like that, huh? Belly all big and round, huge milky tits for the world to see what a slut you are.” John grunted with exertion. “Fucking cock tease. Never sexier. Dean’s like you, just like you.” His hips moved faster, his cock pounding into Dean. He rose slightly and looked between them. “Look at those sexy fucking tits. Can’t wait to nurse on them again.” His hips snapped forward and pushed Dean’s head against the arm of the couch. “Remember how horny I’d get just watching the boys nurse? How horny you’d get? Beg me to fuck you with a baby hanging off your tit?”

His eyes fell shut and his movements were becoming messy. Dean was praying that his father would stop talking and finish up when those rough fingers grasped his little cock and began to tug it.

“No. No no no no,” he chanted under his breath, but the tension was wound tight in his belly, and his sore muscles tightened around his father’s cock as he came. He arched off the couch as a little fluid spurted from his dick, and he shook with the intensity of his orgasm. It took his breath away as wave after wave of pleasure washed through him.

John’s movements had stilled with his eyes screwed shut and mouth slack. He was pressed fully inside Dean’s channel. He was coming – filling Dean with his release and holding it inside. His course pubes rubbed against the soft skin of Dean’s sac as he rutted slightly as though trying to pump a little more seed into him.

John looked down at Dean with the strangest expression. “We were always good together like this in bed, huh? When you weren’t fighting it, weren’t being mouthy and bitchy.” He murmured with a smug smile. “Just take a little warming up don’t you, baby?” He ran a finger through Dean’s release and licked his finger. “Then you’re all the slut any man could want.”

He yawned. “Nothing like a good fuck for a good night’s sleep.” He let his softening cock slip from Dean’s body. Dean’s feet dropped to the sofa, and John stumbled away to the bathroom.

Dean lay there a moment staring at the stained ceiling. The ache deep inside him was more than physical. He felt like a well-used dish rag left in the bottom of a sink. He tugged the t-shirt down until it was taut and covering his crotch. It flattened his tits, but the nipples still poked through, swollen and raw. He rolled to his side and curled in on himself.

The bathroom door opened, and John shuffled out in just his boxers. “Did I wear you out, baby?” He grabbed a folded blanket, shook it open and let it tent over Dean who didn’t move as his father kissed his temple. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. If the seed doesn’t take, we’ll keep trying, hm?”

Dean lay motionless as his father turned off the lamp and went to his own bed. Within minutes, a low steady snore came from him. Still, Dean didn’t move. His crack felt wet and sticky. His father’s spit was all over his chest. He wanted to get up and take a hot shower, but no amount of soap and water could clean his mind. What was worse was that his father’s cum was inside him, infecting him with something far worse than conception.

But there was that too.

He and Sammy had been at WalMart months earlier, and in front of them in line had been a girl not much older than Dean. Her cart, which was piled high with frozen food and snack items, was between them, but he could see that she wore a clinging top that in no way supported or hindered the movement of her large breasts. She looked up and smiled at him. She was cute, and he smiled back. He watched her as she turned her attention to unloading her cart. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her tits swung and bounced with each movement. She had prominent nipples that were clearly visible through the thin fabric. He tried not to think about how they’d feel in his mouth, but his cock was hard in his jeans.

But when she moved awkwardly to put her cart ahead of her, he saw that she wore a miniskirt that bowed under the weight of a baby belly. The stretchy top conformed to the globe of it. When she turned her back, her ass looked impossibly wide for her frame. Her awkwardness was explained. She nearly waddled, and she pressed her hand to her lower back after placing the last item on the conveyor. She shifted from one flip-flop clad foot to the other as though her feet hurt too. He’d been mildly horrified by her appearance. He put his attention elsewhere but couldn’t help wondering how women adjusted to the changes in their bodies brought on by some little invader. This was the cost of pleasure – having a parasite planted inside you. A Geiger-like alien erupting from a man’s abdomen came to mind.

Dean crept off the couch and pulled his sleep pants on. The fabric caught on a sticky patch of skin. He moved gingerly and wondered if he was bleeding. There was a weight in his gut like a ball of uranium, glowing cold, but living, poisoning him, creeping into his veins. It had to be stopped. He crossed the room to his duffle, took his hunting knife from it, and drew the blade from the sheath. He pulled his t-shirt up beneath his arms and the waistband of his pants down to just above his groin. Gripping the hilt of the knife in both hands he put the tip of it against the flat plane of his belly. The skin barely dimpled before a bead of red appeared. He held his breath as it slowly trickled downward.

A loud snore and snort from the bed drew his attention to the figure sprawled on his back beneath the sheet. Dean had been the bait for the witch who’d been preying on young men. She’d left a trail of their dried husks from South Florida to Las Vegas. They’d caught up with her just outside San Francisco. Dean had tried to string her along, but she’d known who they were. She’d laughed at his surprise and begun a long rambling chant. He hadn’t been paying much as he lay there tied to her bed and praying his dad would show up like he was supposed to.

“Like mother, like son,” the witch had said. “Family ties bind father to mother, mother to child and back again – Samuel, Deanna, Mary, John, Dean, Samuel. The chain cannot be broken.”

He felt sick. He’d thought he’d heard his and Sammy’s names twice, but now he realized that she’d said Deanna, not Dean. This was part of the curse. His father would hurt Sammy too, and this thing inside him, better to kill it, yes, but first the offender.

He straightened his clothes and crossed the room. He stood beside his father’s bed with the knife raised high in both hands. He slowly let out a breath and sank the knife in his father’s chest. John’s arm flailed out and grabbed Dean’s arm. Dean tried to pull away but fell to his knees beside the bed. His father’s grip was unnaturally strong.

“Dean,” John rasped. “I, I dreamed of your mother. She was going to have a baby girl, a little angel.” His breath caught and gurgled in his chest. He struggled for air, and his eyes went glassy. His hand dropped from Dean’s arm, and Dean fell back against Sammy’s bed.

Dean sobbed and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stop the sound. The invincible John Winchester was dead. Murdered. And yet he lived inside Dean, in that horrible deadly weight in his gut. He thought of turning the knife on himself, on the thing inside him, but he couldn’t leave his little brother.

He took a deep breath and stood. He pulled his knife from the body. Without a heart to pump it almost no blood seeped from the wound. Dean wiped the knife on the sheet. His father still wore his dog tags from the Marines, and Dean broke the chain and stuffed them along with his father’s wallet into the bottom of his duffle bag for disposal later. He quickly washed up in the bathroom and got dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and boots.

Pulling the bedspread from the bed the body was laying on, he wrapped the sheet around John’s body and tied it in place. Shoving the room key into the pocket of his jeans, he spared Sammy a quick glance to make sure he hadn’t disturbed the kid, before rolling the body over. He stooped to get it onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. His knees nearly gave under the weight, but he widened his stance and eased the door open. He looked around the empty parking lot where a lone flickering light stood sentinel before stepping out. He quickly slipped around the corner into the darkness.

A plan had quickly formed as he’d wrapped his father’s body. After all, it was the kind of thing his father had trained him to do – thinking on his feet and getting rid of bodies. He knew from goofing off with Sammy and exploring around the motel that there was a deep ravine off the back corner of the building. The upper edge of the ravine and most of the steep side were covered with brush, multiflora rose bushes, and blackberry brambles, but there was one spot almost bare of brush and the steep drop off prevented a way downward.

He and Sam had found another way down that had left them scratched and covered with mosquito bites. It was an inhospitable little valley with nothing of interest at the bottom but a rusting 1950s Studebaker. They’d spent fifteen minutes picking ticks off one another when they’d returned to the motel room. It was a safe bet that locals didn’t frequent the area.

The sky was just light enough for him to see the trees and bushes where the ground dropped away, but still he approached with care. He didn’t want to slip into the gorge with his father’s body. Fortunately for Dean, the bottom was obscured by deep brush. With any luck, no one would see the body from above with foliage to cover it. By the time the leaves fell, there’d be nothing much to see.

Dean stepped as close to the edge as he dared, bent his knees, and let the body fall forward. As the weight left his shoulder, he had the urge to not let go, but the sheet slipped from his fingers. His heart pounded as the silence stretched. Then far below, he heard a quiet crash of branches. There was silence for a few moments before the cricket song started up again. He swiped at his eyes and stumbled as he turned to walk back to the room.

Letting himself back in, Dean replaced the bedspread and made the bed neatly as though it hadn’t been slept in. He picked up the clothes and boots his father had been wearing and shoved them into his John’s duffle. He zipped it, took it out, and dumped it into the motel’s dumpster making sure to cover it with trash. Returning to the room, he took a quick look around for any other evidence that his father had returned and then shook his little brother.

“Sammy, Sammy!” he said. Sam’s shoulder jerked out of his grasp. “Hey, come on! Dad said we’re supposed to bug out.”

Sam sat up as though he’d been wide awake the whole time. “I, but I ...” Sam frowned and tipped his head to the side. “I didn’t hear.”

“Yeah, you were out like a light,” Dean said. “Come on, get your stuff together. He came by with Caleb, didn’t explain, but left us the Impala.”

Sam was already off the bed and half-dressed. “Yeah, okay,” he said with a yawn.

They were ready to go within minutes. Dean took one last look around the room, tossed the room key on the bed, and headed for the Impala with Sammy ahead of him.

“So what’s the plan?” Sam asked when they were in the car and Dean was pulling onto the highway.

“We’re supposed to head to Missouri. Stay in Hannibal for a few days. If we don’t hear from Dad, we’re to go to Bobby’s place and wait.”

“Okay.” Sam was silent for about a mile, but Dean knew it wouldn’t last. Sam would have to worry the issue like a bone. “We can’t drive straight through though,” Sam said.

“What? Why?” Dean asked.

The light from the dashboard lit the curve of Sam’s cheek. Dean knew the pensive tilt of his brother’s head. “We need to stop at a drug store, right?” Sam said quietly. “You need to … take care of, um, yourself.”

There was a tightness around Dean’s chest. He couldn’t breathe.  “Sammy …”

“Did you get his dog tags, Dean? And his wallet?” Sam’s face was turned hopefully toward him.

“Yeah.” Dean let the breath out that had been trapped. “I, um, yeah, I took care of everything.”

“No, not everything,” Sam said. “Not yet.”  


-30-


End file.
